The Mystery Of Magic
by DarkCowboy
Summary: When Sherlock recieves a cryptic letter about an escaped murderer on the loose, he jumps at the chance of adventure and the hopes of bringing John out of his slump after he left Mary over her past. But what Sherlock finds is something that will completely contradict everything he knows and holds dear to him, can he solve the case of Sirius Black? Potterlock crossover.
1. Chapter 1

**I have crossed Timelines, so Harry Potter's time at Hogwarts is taking place in modern day instead of 1993 as I feel it would work better than Sherlock being back in the 90s. John has left Mary after finding out about her past and is of course heartbroken, Sherlock is at a loss as to how to handle this so a case is needed. They have hit a dead end concerning Magnussen due to not having Mary there anymore. Enjoy. I don't own anything, except Sherlock himself. He is mine!**

**The Mystery of Magic**

Chapter 1 ~ No Post On Sundays

"Sherlock!" Came the voice of Mrs Hudson as she bustled up the stairs. "Sherlock there is a letter for you, oh for goodness sake what now!" She cried as she saw the state of the apartment. Papers crumpled up littered the floor and Sherlock was balancing what looked like a sword across his knee, holding it lightly in his right hand.

"Bored."

"If you even think about shooting my wall again young man! Is that a sword?"

"The wall is safe, for now, as for this." He leapt up out of the seat and twirled it around in his hand. "Exquisite isn't it, there has been a murder done with an English broadsword, so I decided to do some research into using them, the man must have been quite the artist in combat oh yes!" He pointed the sword up to the ceiling with a look of glee on his face before dropping down into his seat with a big sigh and taking out his phone.

'_Murderer in medieval re enactments, look for left handed man with long hair and scar down right arm, works at local castle doing displays in combat at arms, arrest immediately. SH' _With a beep it was sent to Lestrade and Sherlock went back to his moping.

She gave him a stern look and walked over, muttering about the state of the floor before dropping a letter into his lap. She turned and left as quickly as her rickety hip could manage, pausing in the door way to once again complain about the mess.

"Thank you Mrs Hudson!" He called over her loudly before taking the letter in his hand with great disinterest.

He stroked the rough paper, _no, parchment?_ And turned it over, lifting his hand up into the light and turning it this way and that. The parchment was thick and heavy compared to the modern paper normally used and it peaked his interest ever so slightly. Pursing his lips he took the letter up to his face and sniffed hard, the parchment smelt old and musty. He raked his eyes along the delicate script written upon it, staring intently at the indents it made into the parchment. This was written by a cartridge pen, _no, not cartridge, proper ink. _He touched the tip of his tongue with his index finger and dragged it across the writing, blurring it slightly before touching his finger to his tongue once more. _Ink made for quills, rarely seen or used meaning this was written by someone very old fashioned, rich and ignorant or possibly in denial to workings of the modern world. _

He turned it onto its back and looked at the wax seal upon it. A four sectioned crest sat in the middle of the circle made by the stamp, he swiftly took his magnifier from the table beside him and flicked it open, focusing on each section individually. A lion, a snake, a badger and an eagle. _How curious. _He closed his eyes, focusing his thoughts as he went through crests of noble families in the United Kingdom. His eyes flickered beneath his lids and his facial muscles twitched unintentionally, his fingers gripping at the parchment and magnifier as he searched through the archives of his mind.

A few seconds passed before he opened his eyes and blinked as though coming out of the darkness and into somewhere light. Nothing he could find in his mind palace matched this crest at all, there were similarities to long standing families, one such as a serpent crest or a lion crest, but nothing of the four or even two together. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding and hooked his thumbnail under the seal with a satisfying snap as it cracked off the parchment. He pulled the letter out ever so delicately and unfolded it, lifting it up into the light. Yet again written by quill and ink, the same delicate writing of someone who had had an incredibly old fashioned and upper class childhood.

_Dear Mr Holmes_

_I am writing to you to ask for your help in a serious matter. I have heard you are the best detective the world has to offer and you have a passion for the strange and unusual. The matter at hand is challenging, incredibly dangerous and baffling to behold, I hope it will not be too much for you. _

Sherlock snorted and twirled the paper in his hand. _Too much? For me, who does this guy think he is? _He looked back to the letter.

_A convict has escaped from the most high security prison in the United Kingdom and has sworn revenge against many people. Not only have our own authorities no leads on how he escaped, but also where he is and what he is going to do. It is believed he is going to take his revenge for his master, a dangerous terrorist of the highest calibre. I cannot give out any more details in this letter in case it is intercepted. We need to find this criminal and stop him before he kills again; he is a wanted murderer and one of the most dangerous criminals you may ever encounter. We need your help if you are who you are said to be, if not then I apologise for wasting your time. _

_If you are interested please come to Kings Cross station before 11am on September 1st and wait at the column between platforms 9 & 10, lean against the column so you are easily viewable and my associate will meet you and give you all the details you need about this case. Do not be late by even one minute._

_Yours Faithfully, _

_Professor Albus Dumbledore. _

"FANTASTIC!" Sherlock leapt from his chair in excitement, narrowly avoiding taking off his foot with the sword before he managed to grab it and hastily ran upstairs to John's room.

"John, you'd better be dressed I'm coming in." He hammered down the door and almost broke the knob off before I flung the door open and ran inside. He quickly took in the closed curtains and lifeless figure slumped in the bed before he threw the curtains open. "John wake up, stop moping wake up!"

"Bloody hell Sherlock close the curtains and piss off." John put his arm over his eyes and rolled over to face the wall.

"John get up now!" He leant forwards and grabbed the duvet and pulled it off the bed and onto the floor, almost taking John with it. "You have been in those clothes for 4 days now!"

"I don't bloody care," he sat up and rubbed his eyes, blinking as he focused on Sherlock, a letter in one hand, a sword in the other and his dressing gown open, still in his pyjamas, "why have you got a sword…"

"Oh what this, doesn't matter anymore." He tossed it aside and John yelped as it landed pointy end down in the floorboard and stood upright. "This, this matters!" He flourished the letter in John's face.

"Is that a letter?"

"Yes it arrived today!"

"How? There's no post on Sundays?"

"It doesn't matter how! Just read it." He threw it at John and stood there anxiously, bouncing up on the balls of his feet.

John scanned the letter a couple of times, his face creased as he tried to shake off sleep and concentrate. After what was an excruciatingly long time for Sherlock John took the letter away from his face and handed it back before putting his head in his hands and sighing.

"John, please stop moping it is getting unbearable."

"Oh, you know what unbearable means do you!" He took his hands away from his face and sighed heavily. "Sorry, sorry."

"Come on you can't spend the rest of your life shut away in here, there are mysteries to see, cases to solve… Showers to take." He crinkled up his nose and stared down it at John with the look of an expectant puppy. John looked up sternly and felt his face soften, Sherlock was right.

"Ok, oh-kay, I'm up, I'm going to go have a shower."

"We have 3 days until September 1st, so let us research any details we can find hidden in this letter until then. We need to take your mind off of things."

"By things, do you mean Mary."

Sherlock was silent and stared hard at John, as if expecting him to faint.

"I'll be fine Sherlock I am not going to fall over or anything."

"Are you sure?"

"What? Yes, yes I am damned sure I am fine."

"You know, if you want to, um. Talk. We can, well, talk?"

"You, talk about my problems?"

"Silly idea, yes of course sorry no I'll say no more." He looked away, trying to hide the hurt look on his face.

"No, no Sherlock thank you, I just don't know if I am ready to talk about what happened yet."

Sherlock instantly brightened up and bounced from the room, John watched him go and felt like he had just watched a little boy open his Christmas present early.

The three days passed quickly and they were no closer to figuring out who had sent the letter. No schools or families shared the crest on the seal and when Sherlock tried to ask Mycroft about it the call was swiftly disconnected after he was told not to take the case or he could be arrested. That only strengthened Sherlock's resolve and they left a day early to escape Mycroft's spies whom were sure to be waiting for them to leave and would try to stop them.

John woke up at 9am the next morning to find Sherlock sitting in an ugly armchair in the hotel down the road from Kings Cross Station pretending to read a newspaper. But his eyes were blank and John could see he wasn't there at all, he left him to it and showered and got dressed. By the time he was out Sherlock was back and full of life that only came from not sleeping.

"Breakfast first!" John said before Sherlock had even opened his mouth. Sherlock gave him a look that rivalled a kitten being taunted and John had to resist stomping his foot down. "Breakfast or I go home."

"You wouldn't."

"You underestimate me."

"Clearly…"

"I may not be able to make you sleep but I'll be damned if I am going running around chasing a murderer on an empty stomach, and you will do best to do the same or I will shove it down your throat."

Sherlock rolled his eyes before folding the paper between his long fingers and putting it down on the arm of the chair, pushing himself up and stretching.

They came downstairs and into the lobby, turning left to go to the dining hall where a buffet breakfast was being served. John nudged Sherlock on in front of him to join the queue and watched him like a hawk as he piled scrambled eggs, bacon, beans and toast onto his own plate. Sherlock took a two slices of toast, an egg and some bacon and proceeded to prod it and stare wistfully out the window once they had sat down.

"If you don't eat it we won't go."

"Sorry Mother."

John gritted his teeth, he was used to this but it still annoyed him to no end. He managed to get Sherlock to eat half his breakfast before he started pushing it around the plate and finally gave up. He was happily full and Sherlock's eagerness was infecting. It was quarter to 10 by the time they arrived at Kings Cross Station and they had the funny feeling someone (I wonder who, MYCROFT) was following them.

They wandered through the station until they came across the column which had a sign either side for platform 9 and platform 10.

"So, all that is left now is to lean up against this column and look interesting I guess." Sherlock mused, he lifted his hand to touch the cold stone when a voice rang out.

"Touch that column and I'll have you arrested." Mycroft's sinister voice came from behind them, Sherlock's hand paused centimetres away from the stone and he spun round, putting his hands behind his back and looking as innocent as he could.

"Why?"

"Some things are best left unknown Sherlock." Mycroft warned as two men who were obviously from the Secret Service came up and flanked him.

"One who lusts for the pursuit of knowledge, namely me, would argue that point incessantly."

"There will be no arguments here Sherlock, step away from the column."

"Why? Give me a real reason and I might consider it." He looked down at John, trying to convey everything through his eyes, he hoped John knew him well enough to know what he was thinking by now.

"I am not about to divulge information about this countries secrets just to put your brilliant mind at ease."

"Did you hear that John, I think he just called me brilliant." John had to suppress a giggle and Sherlock's mouth curled at the corners as he watched Mycroft try to keep his emotions intact.

"Sherlock now is not the time for games, step away from the column."

"I'll ask you one more time, _brother dearest,_ why? You can't just arrest me for looking at a column or touching it."

"But, _brother dearest, _I can, remember."

"Oh enough with the theatrics Mycroft what is going on!" John tried to keep his voice low, people seemed completely oblivious as they passed and he didn't want to catch their attention.

"None of your business John, that's what is going on."

John held his tongue as he waited for the signal from Sherlock.

Sherlock stretched one arm up, the other covering his mouth as he yawned. "Well this is terribly boring if you're going to play Mr Mystery Mycroft, you're going to arrest me if I touch the column?"

"Yes." He twitched forwards and caught himself before he took a step and took a deep breath. "Yes, that is correct."

"What if I do _this._" The emphasis was what John had been waiting for and he stepped backwards just as Sherlock pulled his arm down and leant back onto the column, his eyes catching the clock upon the wall that said it was less than a minute before it was 11 o'clock, it was now or never.

Without warning, his arm went through the stone and he stumbled backwards. John let out a gasp as Sherlock disappeared, his arm flailing about before grabbing John's coat and dragging him backwards through the stone. John cried out and squeezed his eyes shut as he fell into nothingness, his last sight being that of Mycroft lunging at the across the distance between them.

Mycroft hit the hard stone of the column and uttered a whimper of pain. He slammed his hands into the column and dropped his gaze to the floor.

"God damnit!" He shouted out so loudly passers by jumped.

"Sir, what do we do now." One of the agents behind him said quietly.

"We pray for him, there is nothing we can do for Sherlock Holmes now."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – The Hogwarts Express

John landed on something soft that made a very unpleasant sound; he opened his eyes to find himself on Sherlock's chest and was instantly shoved off. Sherlock jumped up and dusted off his coat as he looked around, the air was smoky and people were milling around, he turned to see a large scarlet steam engine sitting on the platform. Before he could really get his bearings the whistle blew and the train started to make a lot of noise.

"Mr Holmes! Doctor Watson!" A woman's voice shouted out across the platform and they turned to see an elderly woman rushing towards them. Her voice was thick with a Scottish accent and she was wearing a large pointed hat and dark, _what are they? Robes?_ _Its not Halloween just yet. _Sherlock mused to himself. His mind was still reeling and he forced every thought out of his head so he could take in the vicinity. John was slowly getting up, a mystified expression on his face.

"What… What just happened?"

"Shh be quiet I am thinking." He narrowed his eyes as the woman approached.

"I am correct in assuming you are Mr Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson?" She tried her best not to look too flustered as she stood before them.

"You are correct." Sherlock studied her as John just gawked around; he closed his eyes for a second and willed John to keep still.

"Come with me," she was interrupted by another whistle and a shout of 'last call for the Hogwarts Express', "quickly! We didn't think you were coming."

"Hogwhat?" John snapped out of his dreamy demeanour and started to focus as the woman led them to one of the doors of the train and knocked.

The door to the first compartment opened and she stepped in, standing to one side as they both climbed up and onto the train.

Sherlock looked around the compartment; one or two adults were sitting in plush booths by the windows along with a portly woman filling a trolley with curious looking snacks. Before he could get a good look the woman led them over to a booth by the door through to the next compartment and motioned for them to sit down as the trained lurched and started forwards, chuffing all the while.

"Now I expect you are wondering just what is going on-"

"We just fell through what seems to be a hidden door into a hidden platform on Kings Cross Station and have been intercepted by a woman wearing clothes that were outdated even 100 years ago and a steam engine that has never before been seen in the United Kingdom and doesn't exist. Conspiracy is what is going on here." Sherlock cut across her, trying to keep his expression firm as he suppressed what would probably be considered glee.

"No hidden doors I am afraid Mr Holmes."

"Then just how did we fall through a stone column and end up on a platform that doesn't exist." John tried to sit up straight as he spoke, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Platform '9 ¾'s to be precise." Sherlock muttered.

"Platform 9 ¾'s does exist Doctor Watson, people just can't get onto it."

"Then how did we get onto it?" John replied crossly.

"Magic, Doctor Watson."

Sherlock looked back at the woman from his staring out the window. "Magic?" He scoffed.

"Let me introduce myself. I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"I see, ok. Mycroft you can come out now, very funny what are you really hiding?" He looked around the compartment and waited.

"Nothing is being hidden Mr Holmes, I am telling the truth."

"Prove it."

Minerva, as she was called, got up and straightened her robes before producing a long wooden stick from a side pocket.

"Expecto Patronum!" She shouted across the cabin and something shot from the end of the stick, a white shape hurtled around the cabin escorted by a blue trail of glowing light, as the shape rushed past them they saw it was a tabby cat. A perfect rendition in size, shape and detail.

"Very clever, where is the projector?"

"No projections, no tricks, no slide of hand Mr Holmes I can assure you."

"I don't believe you, I believe in science."

"I guess I will have to show you the truth Mr Holmes." She leant onto the desk and towards Sherlock, his eyes widened as she suddenly started to shrink. Within the blink of an eye her hands had become paws and her skin turned to fur and a tabby cat stood before them on the table. The cat walked over to Sherlock and placed a paw on his chest, making him flinch.

The cat turned to look at John and John scrabbled back into his seat, nearly falling out the side of the booth in fright.

"Sherlock, the cat, Sherlock. Sherlock it has spectacle markings round its eyes like the woman. Sherlock the woman became a cat." He frantically grasped at words, becoming breathless as he clutched the seat with all his might.

Sherlock sat there, staring in silence.

"Sherlock, say something please god say something. Tell me this isn't happening."

Silence.

The cat took its paw off of Sherlock's chest and purred, making little 'hick hick' sounds as it did. It sounded amused, _can a cat sound amused? _Thought John.

The cat then leapt of the table and with a ruffle of a cloak it had transformed back into the woman, she smoothed down her clothes and slid back onto the seat opposite them.

"Do you need anymore convincing gentlemen?" She smirked as she viewed them both over her glasses. John shook his head frantically, still clutching at the seat.

"Mr Holmes? Mr Holmes are you alright?"

"I… I think you broke him Professor." John stuttered as he looked at his friend with concern. "Sherlock, can you hear me?" He shook Sherlock's shoulder and nothing happened.

"Is he going to be ok Doctor Watson?"

"John… John is um, fine. I hope so, I have only ever seen him like this once before but it didn't last this long. He sort of hides in his mind when something changes his perception."

"Well John I do hope he surfaces soon as we have a case to discuss."

At the mention of the case Sherlock suddenly gasped a deep breath.

"Oh my god Sherlock you weren't breathing!" John cried out.

"I, no I guess I wasn't."

"Are you ok?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Sherlock…"

"I said, I don't want to talk about it, now, tell me about this case."

Minerva peered over her glasses at Sherlock before taking a deep breath.

"Well, Mr Holmes... How to begin, our world is a closely guarded secret to muggles." John looked quizzically at her. "Non magical people John." John nodded as if he completely understood and Sherlock had to yet again roll his eyes. "The wizarding world is consisted of 3 types of people. Pureblood wizards, families who have been wizards for generations and can trace their ancestry back as far as they can be traced. Then there are half bloods, children of pureblood wizards and witches who have married muggles. And then there are muggle-born, children of non magical ancestry who show magical talents. Magic is shown at a young age, it is uncontrolled and usually due to emotional outbursts, such as setting fire to things or making things move. Whenever magic is performed by people under the age of 17, a 'trace' picks it up and alerts our authorities, the Ministry of Magic. We then reveal our world to them on their 11th birthday with an acceptance letter to Hogwarts School. Children of wizarding ancestry, on one side or both, usually know about magic before hand, but for muggle children it can be very troubling. That is why we have the school, we are one of 3 in Europe alone, all boarding schools for young witches and wizards."

"And what does this have to do with the case?" Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table impatiently.

"I figured you could with an explanation Mr Holmes." He stared at her, the drumming getting louder.

"We have a wizarding prison, the most high security prison in Europe and probably the world, an unmapped island called Azkaban. That is where the mass murderer Sirius Black escaped from." As she went on to describe the prison and its workings, and then onto why Black was captured John and Sherlock sat very still. Sherlock still had a couple of fingers raised ready to drum, but was so intent on the story they stayed still.

"Once upon a time I would not have believed in arch enemies and global domination just because you're a raving psychopath, but being with Sherlock has taught me better. Moriarty was nothing compared to this Lord Voldymort person."

"Lord Vol-de-mort John. Translated literally from French it means 'Flight of Death', where as if you translate Moriarty's name from Latin it means 'Death is Art'. I am beginning to see a trend in clever names." Sherlock trailed off as they watched the sky darken outside. It was raining slightly and they had been on the train for hours now.

"As you are going to be at our school, we will have robes for you and jobs so you can do your investigations in peace. Mr Holmes, you will be filling in for our Defence against the Dark Arts teacher when he is unavailable and the two of you will be teaching Muggle Studies until such times as the case is solved, if of course you are able to do so."

"And how pray tell do you expect us to teach something in a magical school?" John said with a sceptical edge to his voice.

"Lesson plans have been made for you by our usual teacher and you will have help if you need it at any time from the other Professors and our Headmaster. It is why we chose Muggle Studies, who better to teach it than muggles. We do not want anyone to know why you are here this year, it could jeopardise everything."

"You say you have muggl- normal children here, what if one of them recognises Sherlock?"

"We are prepared for that, you will be announced Sherlock, as you are a famous detective people will know you, but as an ex student, you will both be sorted upon arrival into your houses and we shall go from there."

Before either could speak again the train suddenly lurched to a halt.

"Oh dear, I was afraid this would happen." Minerva whispered.

"What? What would happen?" John looked around uncertainly as the candles flickered and died.

"The guards of Azkaban are here, as I told you they are protecting the school, but I didn't expect them to search the trains!" She stood up and went to the compartment door and peered out when a scream rang out.

Sherlock and John both leapt up as Minerva flung the door open and hurried through it, they followed her billowing cloak through the aisle of the train as she told each student to lock the doors to their compartments and stay put. Any students she found out of the compartments she ushered back inside and continued to search for the source of the scream.

At the end of two carriages she found a young girl on the floor, white as a sheet. She helped her up and put her in a compartment after being told whatever it was had gone into the next carriage. John leant up against the window as they waited to go into the next carriage and immediately jumped backwards, knocking into Sherlock and slamming him into a student filled compartment and making them all scream.

"John whatever was that for!"

"There's something outside!" He exclaimed and pointed a shaking finger at the window. Sherlock pushed past him and looked outside, pressing his nose up against the glass. Almost immediately he flew backwards as a black figure flew past, ice crept across the windows as it disappeared into the gloom and Sherlock raised a finger to it.

"Was that a Dementor?"

Minerva nodded and hurried through into the next carriage without waiting for them, they both followed anxiously and as soon as had they stepped through the second set of doors the windows turned to sheets of ice. John fell back against the side of the aisle and held onto the window sill as his breathing became heavy. Sherlock looked back and opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.

A white light lit up the entire carriage as a black cloaked figure came flying out of a compartment ahead and out the open window. John only saw a glimpse of the light before he dropped to the floor, the screams of soldiers and civilians filled his head as gunshots ripped through his thoughts before they went black.

Sherlock watched in complete confusion at the scene unfolding before him. Despair and grief welled up inside him and threatened to burst out, thoughts of Redbeard and leaving John whirled in his mind and he resisted the temptation to clutch at his heart. As the darkness outside lifted slightly he realised it had been thick fog that had made everywhere suddenly become dark, not night itself. A man stood in the open compartment doorway with his wand out and looked around.

"Settle down everyone, it's gone now, back to your seats please!" He called out before nodding to Minerva and glancing over Sherlock and behind him.

"Is he alright?" He jabbed his wand by Sherlock's feet and Sherlock spun round to see John on the floor.

"John!" Sherlock ran and dropped down beside him, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him roughly. "John can you hear me wake up!"

He shook him again and patted his face until John sat up.

"So many people, so many innocent people." He blinked furiously and wiped away tears as he looked around, he touched his hand to his head and ran it through his hair as he looked around. "Why am I on the floor?"

Sherlock couldn't suppress a small smile as he pulled John to his feet. "You had me worried there for a second."

"What happened."

"You passed out, you big wimp."

"I what!"

Minerva came over to them and explained what had happened as John kept a hand on Sherlock's shoulder to steady himself.

"Did you… Feel it too?" He looked at Sherlock, his eyes still watery.

"Yes, it wasn't pleasant." Sherlock pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, trying to banish the emotions that were threatening to mutiny inside his carefully managed mind.

The compartment door opened again and the man they had seen earlier approached. He had a haggard appearance which was only enhanced by his shabby clothes and the eyes of a man suffering from severe insomnia. Sherlock looked him up and down carefully.

"Remus is everything ok?" Minerva asked as he stopped in front of them.

"Yes, young Harry had quiet a fright I am afraid, he said he heard Lily screaming." The man looked away suddenly and pinched the bridge of his nose with his hands as if fighting to keep his composure.

"Oh Remus, come along let us get back to the staff carriage now all this is over."

Once seated again Sherlock and John were introduced to Professor Remus Lupin, whom Sherlock would be covering for on certain days due to an 'illness' that no one would divulge anymore about. Soon after the sky had darkened the train finally pulled into the station nearest to the school, a little village called 'Hogsmeade' ('do you folks have a thing for boars or something' Sherlock asked when told the name) and they stepped off the train into the crisp night air.

Sherlock looked around at the students milling around him as he and John stood on the platform until a booming voice came across the open space.

"Firs' years! Firs' years to me." They looked for the sound of the voice only to be greeted with an incredulous site, a man well over 8ft tall stood in the crowd gathering students to him.

"Any relation to the Gollum?" John whispered in his ear and Sherlock sniggered quietly.

"That," Minerva snapped, "is our grounds keeper Rubeus Hagrid and he takes all first years to the castle by boat, "now if you'll follow me gentlemen our carriages await."

They followed her and Remus to a wooded area by the platform, there beautiful Victorian style carriages were lined up. Sherlock took a step back as they approached. Great skeletal horse like creatures stood harnessed to the carriages. John grabbed at his arm and they both looked at each other.

"These are Thestrals, they live in the Forbidden Forest on our grounds and can only be seen by those who have seen death." She walked over and stroked one and it clicked its, _beak?! Yes, beak, _at her. She stood patiently beside it and waited for them to approach, Sherlock shoved John forwards and waited.

John looked back helplessly and Sherlock waved patronisingly at him. "You go first, if it eats me more people will be sad!" He called out to him.

"People will celebrate if it eats you what are you talking about!" John called back and took a cautious step towards the creature. He held out his hand and the creature sniffed it before clicking its beak and looking him over with dark liquid eyes.

Sherlock watched on until John walked over and grabbed him, roughly pushing him towards the creature.

"Now Sherlock, make friends!" He chided.

Sherlock sniffed at him before holding his hand out tentatively. The Thestral clicked at him before snapping its beak, Sherlock pulled back his hand and the beak closed over thin air where his hand had been moments before.

"Oh my god hahahahahah!" John grabbed his stomach and doubled over with laughter as Sherlock held his hand to his chest protectively.

"Positively brutish!" Sherlock sneered before turning around and pulling himself into the carriage, settling down as John climbed in very ungracefully. The carriage set off down the cleared track and Sherlock peered out of the curtained window whilst John tried to make small talk with the two professors. As they rounded a small bend Sherlock pushed on the door to the compartment and pulled himself out of it, standing on the edge of the doorway and staring in disbelief.

"Sherlock what the hell are you doing!" John stood up and went to pull him inside as Sherlock pointed in front of them. John looked up and let go of Sherlock, he nearly fell out of the carriage had it not been for Sherlock realising and grabbing his coat. Steadying himself John tried to stop his mouth from falling open at the sight before them.

A great castle rose out from the tree tops, settled atop a slight cliff face. Its towers rose up into the heavens and it loomed out of the darkness like something from a fairy tale. After a few minutes of hanging onto the side of the carriage John sat back down and pulled Sherlock with him.

"Its beautiful isn't it." Remus smiled at them both as they sat there star struck.

"A castle, the school is a bloody castle."

"Your powers of deduction amaze me John." Sherlock drawled.

"Piss off Sherlock. A bloody castle!" He exclaimed again.

"Yes gentlemen, a 'bloody castle'." She smirked and looked at Remus who was also grinning. The carriage passed through the gates and onto the grounds below the castle. Sherlock leapt out as fast as his long legs could manage and stood to face the castle, its reflection cast upon a black lake where countless boats with lanterns attached to them were cutting across the smooth surface and heading for a hole in the cliff face.

"Welcome to Hogwarts Mr Holmes." Came Minerva's voice from behind him, he let out a deep breath and continued to stare, he was, for one of the first times in his life, utterly speechless.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Egads! A Talking Hat!

As they walked through the great oak doors of the castle Sherlock's mind was reeling and it was making him dizzy, only this morning he had never known this world existed and now he was thrust into something that completely contradicted everything he had ever known. He felt naked, stripped of his conviction. Knowledge was his power and that power had been taken away and he was having to rethink everything he ever thought he knew, his resolve was gone. Marred by black skeletal horses and floating candles, _and lets not forget women turning into cats! I DON'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT IT._Sherlock brought himself back to the present, arguing with himself was not helpful right now.

They were led past the throngs of students all lining up to go through the largest set of doors John had ever seen, he peeked in to see a large hall filled with tables and students and, yes, more floating candles. He shook his head and jogged to catch up with his long legged companion and Minerva. She took them to a room at the other end of the castle to the hall entrance and shut the door once they were inside. There, standing in front of a 3 legged stool with a tattered old hat on it, was the oldest man they had ever seen, his long white beard reached past his waist and his blue eyes shone from behind half moon spectacles.

"Professor Dumbledore I presume." Sherlock stood up as tall as he could and looked over the old man, mentally jotting down notes about his person.

"You must be the great detective, Sherlock Holmes." He smiled showing startling white teeth and held out a hand. Sherlock crossed the small space in a couple of strides and shook it firmly.

Dumbledore's eyes passed over Sherlock and onto John. "This must be John Watson, your faithful companion."

"Friend, companion makes me sound like a dog."

"You're a wonderful dog John be quiet."

John gritted his teeth and bit back a snarky retort in front of the others.

"You are both going to be sorted now." He motioned for John to approach and they both stood in front of the stool.

"So do we take a test or does the one who fits the hat get to go home with the Prince like in Cinderella?" John said sarcastically as he searched the little room for any indications of what was to come.

"Nothing like that, all you have to do is sit." Dumbledore picked the hat up off the stool and waited, Sherlock took a long finger and pushed down ever so gently towards the stool with it. John sighed and shook his head, resigned, before sitting down.

"There's a good boy." Sherlock chimed in, John clenched his fist and was about to throttle Sherlock when something fell over his eyes.

"A soldier aye? A real live soldier how exciting." Whispered a voice in his ear, John scrabbled backwards in fright and the stool flew out from underneath him, he landed in a heap on the cold stone floor and wrestled with whatever was on his head before throwing it away.

"Now there's no need for that old chum!" John stared at the hat in terror as a tear in it moved and two creases appeared above it to form eyes and mouth.

"The HAT IS TALKING OH MY GOD." John scrabbled back further only to hit something solid, he looked up to see Professor Dumbledore standing over him with a small smile on his face, his eyes twinkled, suggesting he was enjoying this thoroughly. John looked over at Sherlock who was barely suppressing laughter and had resorted to placing a hand over his mouth.

"Please Dr Watson, do calm down and try again. This is the sorting hat, it was bewitched by one of the four founders of Hogwarts, a wizard named Godric Gryffindor. It looks inside your mind and heart to see which house you belong in. We have four houses."

The hat moved again and John flinched before it opened its 'mouth' and started to sing.

"There's nothing hidden in your head, the Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve and chivalry set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a steady mind,  
Where those of wit and learning, will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin you'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid! And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none) for I'm a Thinking Cap!"

John sat there with his mouth wide open as Dumbledore picked up the stool and set it back down. The hat looked rather chuffed with itself as Dumbledore picked it up.

"We don't get enough students who fall off their chairs anymore, wonderful!" It said loudly and to no one in particular.

John scowled and got up, dusting himself off before sitting on the chair, his last view was of Sherlock trying his best not to turn red as the hat covered his eyes again.

"Let's try again shall we?" Came the whisper of the hat. "My oh my we have seen some things haven't we, very brave, you'd make a good Gryffindor, but you're not arrogant or interested in bravery at all. Incredibly loyal, my goodness the lengths you will go too for friends and family. Your mind is an interesting one sir, it had better be, HUFFLEPUFF." The last words echoed out across the room, cutting through the silence

The hat was taken off of his head and he went over to stand next to Sherlock, he was tapped on the shoulder by Minerva and he turned to be presented with folded clothes. He took them with a smile and unfolded them to reveal plain black robe, much like the students he had seen earlier. He was then presented with a yellow tie that had black stripes on it. 'In case people try to pry, keep it on you for a bit'. He pulled them on as Sherlock sat down on the stool; he closed his eyes and waited.

He felt the hat slide down over his face, but it stopped just above his eyes compared to John and a there was a whisper in my ear.

"So you're the great detective aye? Oh my, oh my. I could stay in your mind forever, fascinating. This deep thirst for knowledge would make Ravenclaws swoon, but this lust for adventure would leave Gryffindors in the dust. Oh and this loyalty, you really did that for your friend, Hufflepuff herself would be proud? Incredible! But one thing is taking over everything in here. This ambition, my goodness the ambition, the unquenched drive to be the best, this heart, locked away and only shown so very rarely. This manipulative and using personality, this narcissism, you rival a mind I have seen before. You my boy are a gold mine. The best and most powerful traits of every house, but the obsessive mastering of every single trait of one house. It is like you were born to be in it. There is no doubt in my mind that it had better be SLYTHERIN."

He opened his eyes as the hat was pulled off and immediately reached up and tousled his hair, he hated when his hair was flattened. He stood up to see John watching happily and his eyes saw Minerva's. The look on her face was unreadable.

He turned round to face Dumbledore and saw that his eyes had lost that sparkle.

"Something wrong?" He raised an eyebrow at them.

"Not at all, congratulations both of you." Dumbledore clapped and sparks appeared in the air like mini fireworks.

Sherlock walked over to get his robes and took off his coat, throwing it over a table where John had put his, he pulled the robes on quickly, pulling at the soft fabric until it sat smoothly on him. He was handed a green tie with silver stripes and he stuffed it in his pocket quickly before pulling his scarf out from under his robes and straightening it. They were ushered out of the room and Sherlock strode purposefully out the doorway and into the great hall they had passed earlier. Dumbledore told them to sit at a large table at the head of the hall and then swept past them carrying the stool and the hat. He placed it down in front of his seat. He came and sat down next to an empty chair on Sherlock's left and clasped his hands together as he if were about to watch his favourite show.

Minerva, who had disappeared out the other door, now came in through the giant wooden doors of the hall followed by two lines of young children. She stood at the end of the hall and turned to face the children seated at the tables, one by one the students were called and had the sorting hat placed on their heads before joining their respective houses.

"Not one person fell, 11yr olds are better than you John." Sherlock whispered in John's ear.

"Shut up before I make you."

"Must you always resort to violence?"

"With you, yes."

Once Minerva was sorted, Dumbledore stood up and spoke to the hall, welcoming the new students and introducing the staff.

"Now, I have heard the whispering from many of the students, I may be old but I am not deaf. Yes, I would like to introduce you to 3 new Professors. Professor Remus Lupin will be taking over as Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor John Watson will be teaching Muggle Studies alongside Professor Sherlock Holmes."

"I knew it!" Came a scream from the crowd. A young Gryffindor boy suddenly clapped his hand across his mouth and looked around as people started to laugh and chatter.

"Professor Watson and Professor Holmes have agreed to teach here for the coming years, they have taught here before and are ex students. They left many years ago to pursue work in the Muggle World for their research and have now returned to share what they have learned. I expect you all to treat them with the respect a Professor deserves and not a celebrity."

"Yes, we have enough of those already." Came a drawling voice from the Slytherin table, a young boy with sharp features and platinum blond hair stared up from the crowds with a smirk on his face. His eyes came to meet Sherlock's and they narrowed suspiciously. Sherlock lifted his nose slightly and stared back as haughtily as he could muster, stealing one of Mycroft's favourite looks he used often on John.

"Quiet!" Sounded the firm voice of Professor Dumbledore as he continued on with his short speech, before clapping his hands with a wide grin. "Let the feast, begin!"

John looked around hopefully for some form of food until he was elbowed by Sherlock; he whipped his head round only to see food appearing out of thin air on the empty plates in front of them. His jaw dropped open as he watched it fill up the tables.

"Close your mouth it's rude." Sherlock whispered before picking a grape off of a bunch in front of him and popping it into his mouth eagerly. He smiled and picked another one, his eyes scanning the room and compiling information all the while. They rested on a pale figure sitting at the Gryffindor table, as he watched he realised it was translucent. His eyes widened with shock as the chattering figure reached up, grabbed his hair and pulled his head off, revealed a severed spine and a tiny shred of the neck still intact keeping the head on.

"John do you see this." He nudged John so hard he nearly dropped his whatever-the-hell-it-was he was drinking.

"Close your mouth it's rude, yes, I see it, it's a ghost Sherlock, a ghost. How does science explain this one?" John looked down to the food and piled his plate as high as he could with some of the richest food he had ever tasted, he could certainly get used to this and it kept his mind of the fact that there were dead people mingling with children in front of him. Sherlock stared a little longer before pushing his fingers into his eyes and trying his best not to sob in frustration. He plucked a few more grapes and ate them before taking a slice of toast and tearing into it in a desperate attempt to distract himself.

"Wow this place suits you, you're eating!" John exclaimed through a mouthful of food and Sherlock swiftly put the piece of bread down and scowled.

As the feast ended and Dumbledore made some announcements and sent everyone to bed he then asked them to come with him, he took them up a flight of stairs onto the second floor, after what seemed like a very long walk to John and a very easy walk to Sherlock they reached a metal framed door with a large round knocker instead of a doorknob, like everywhere else. Dumbledore took the knocker and twisted it, opening the door and led them inside.

"This will be your living quarters for the year; you should find it well suited to your needs. I will see you in the morning for a tour of the castle and to discuss the case at hand, good night gentlemen." Dumbledore backed away and seemed to almost float away as his robes concealed his feet. Sherlock looked around quickly and John barely even made it into the room before he slumped down on an armchair by a roaring fire.

"I call top bunk!" Shouted Sherlock and ran off up a curving staircase on the right side of the room where John guessed a bed was, he looked up to see what looked like many book cases. _That's why he wants to be up there. _

"Alright Mr Slytherin." He called drearily.

He got up slowly and made his way to the bed situated underneath Sherlock's floor and flopped down onto it.

"You know, I was wrong about you John."

"Huh." He uttered through a mouthful of pillows.

"You're not a dog; you're a badger, much more endearing."

"Piss off." He shouted half heartedly before sitting up and pulling his robes off. He chucked them down on the floor and went to find a bathroom, only to walk into his suitcase.

"How the, Sherlock! Have you noticed our luggage is here?"

"Is it, ahh yes it is! How fascinating! I thought we left it back at Kings Cross?"

"We did, I thought Mycroft would have taken it."

"Guess not."

"Well, good night."

"Good night."

Sherlock pulled off his clothes and opened his case, emptying it on the floor and grabbing his pyjamas. He hopped into bed with a book he had picked from the cases by his bed and read by candlelight until sleep finally took him, the sound of John's snoring making him drowsier and drowsier.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 –The Detective and the Broomstick **

When Sherlock opened his eyes that morning he was greeted by a pile of robes folded neatly at the foot of his bed, he sat up and leant forwards to pick them up. Another plain black robe, a green and silver scarf and matching hat and his clothes from yesterday, washed and waiting for him. He looked around quickly, all his clothes he had dumped on the floor had been put back into his case, he sniffed and in annoyance and got off the bed, tipping them out again and going to the bathroom on his floor.

He came back out to find his clothes back in his case, all folded neatly. _Is this magic or something else? _He tipped it out again and this time went to the bathroom but didn't close the door, he waited for a few seconds before peeking out again. There he met the strangest sight, a small, wrinkled creature with bat like ears was busying itself tidying his clothes back into his case.

"Aha!" He cried as he stepped out of the bathroom, the creature spun round, jumping slightly before bending low to the floor in a very over exaggerated bow.

"Sorry sir." Squeaked the creature. "Tripsy was just tidying up sir."

"And it is Tripsy's job to clean up my mess?"

"Yes sir, Tripsy loves to keep everything neat." Eyes as large as tennis balls sparkled in the creatures overly large head as it, _she? _Spoke.

"And what exactly are you Tripsy?"

"Sir, Tripsy is a house elf, one of many who work here."

"A house elf? What is a house elf?"

"Why, a house elf is what cooks the food and cleans the floors, washes the clothes and keeps everything in its place sir!" Tripsy squeaked in delight.

"You're a servant?"

"Yes sir, anything you need, just ask, you'll find us near the Hufflepuff common room in the Kitchens." And with that a large crack sounded and Tripsy was gone. Sherlock stood there for a moment collecting his thoughts before going over and tipping his clothes out again, just because.

"Sherlock what was that noise?"

"Nothing, just a house elf."

"A what?"

"You'll see." Sherlock called back and promptly picked his clothes up and dropped them over the railings so they landed in a heap by John's bed. "Now get up and go to the bathroom and then look back out at my clothes quickly."

"What the, Sherlock it is too early for your nonsense."

"Just do it."

He heard a sigh and the creaking of the bed as John got up and went into the bathroom. A few seconds later he heard a gasp and a door was slammed shut. He came downstairs as he heard another crack and found John had locked himself in the bathroom.

"I take it you met Tripsy."

"There was a small creature in a rag picking up your clothes." A crack sounded upstairs, the elf putting his clothes back he guessed.

"That would be a house elf, the school's kitchen staff apparently."

"A house elf."

Silence.

"John you can come out now she is gone."

"No, I'm quite happy in here thanks, I don't know just how much more I can take so the bathroom seems like a safe place, maybe I'll just have a bath and-"

Suddenly the door flew open and John ran out, jumping on his bed and clutching his knees.

"The bath filled itself up."

"How wonderful." Sherlock said unenthusiastically before peering in to see the bath filling with steaming water. He raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly; he had given up trying to be rational and was trying his best just to understand what was going on.

Once John had recovered they both got dressed, judging by the sun outside the large windows it was about 6am and no sooner than Sherlock had tied his shoes was there a knock on the door. John opened it as Sherlock stood leaning on the banister and saw Dumbledore come in, a tray of tea floating behind him. He walked down slowly, trying his best to get his mind to work so he could start collecting information again.

"Good morning Mr Holmes, I trust you both slept well?"

"Wonderfully thank you, I also had the pleasure of meeting your kitchen staff."

"Oh yes, lovely I hope they didn't scare you."

"Not in the slightest." Sherlock smirked at John who grimaced back before continuing. "I'm curious, how many of them are there."

"Oh, at least a hundred I dare say."

"And other staff members?"

"We have at the moment 14 professors, 5 substitute or extra curricular teachers and the odd ministry official popping in to teach certain subjects."

"How many students?"

"Oh near on a thousand I would say."

"What subjects are taught here?" He took a cup of tea from the tray that was hovering ever closer to him and sat down, as did John and the Headmaster.

"Defence against the Dark Arts, Potions, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Muggle Studies, Divination, Ancient Runes, History of Magic, Transfiguration, Charms, Astrology and Arithmancy."

"And the extra curricular?"

"Apart from many clubs established throughout the school, we have Apparition classes in the 7th year and flying lessons for all 1st years."

John nearly spat out his tea. "Flying lessons?"

"Yes, on broomsticks."

"Broomsticks, you mean, witches actually fly on broomsticks?"

"Yes, and wizards, the main sport we have in the wizarding word is Quidditch, it is our Football."

Both stared blankly for a moment.

"If you like I can show you during the tour of the castle and grounds?"

They both nodded and put their cups down, eager to be out and working.

A little while later they followed the Headmaster down to a large green where a young man stood, he was dressed in red and gold robes with leather bracers on his arms and legs and stood before a small black box bound with leather straps. He held a very stylized broom in one hand.

"Professor Holmes, Professor Watson I would like to introduce you to our Gryffindor Quidditch Captain Mr Oliver Wood."

"Good morning Professors." The boy held out his hand and shook hands with the pair of them; he had a Scottish accent and was well built for his age. He certainly looked the athletic type. He caught John staring at the broom and handed it to him. "It's a Nimbus 2000, one of the best brooms around, I only got it recently."

John raised his eyes, trying to look impressed before he looked at the broomstick. The long handle was carved and polished, but not straight, it had two metal pieces that came off of it to create foot holders. The brush at the end was tucked into a gold band and there was 'Nimbus 2000' painted down the side of the handle.

He passed it to Sherlock who ran his hands along the smooth wood and stared down the length of the handle before inspecting the seat.

"Do you want to try it out?"

"Show me." He held out the broom and Oliver took it. He hopped over it as agile as a cat and Sherlock and John stared in amazement as the broom stayed off the ground once Oliver's feet were on the holders.

Oliver shot away from the ground like a rocket, bending low over a broom as one might a horse, he performed some aerial acrobatics and a few barrel rolls before coming back down to land in front of the two stunned men and the Headmaster.

"You sure you both don't want a go."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and stared at the broom, a million thoughts rushing through his mind, speed, balance, g force, acceleration, weight, height, agility. He could do this.

"I will." He said firmly and John looked over to him in surprise. The old professor just smiled as Oliver handed him the broom.

"The broom will act almost at your very thought and the way you move your body controls the speed, the closer you get to the broom, the faster you go, the turns can be really sharps as well."

Sherlock nodded stiffly before moving away from the group, he was aware of everyone watching and smiled. This was not something he ever thought he would be able to say he had done.

He stood over the broom and tried not to let himself feel foolish, he still couldn't get his head around magic and half expected nothing to happen even after the display he had just seen. He put one foot on the pedal and felt the broom lift off the ground slightly, he took his other foot off the floor and the broom rocked underneath him. He replaced his foot on the ground and took a deep breath before trying again. He put his foot on the other pedal and sat down on the broom, waiting for it to drop onto the ground. He looked down; he was hovering not even a foot off the floor. He looked over to John who still had the same expression of awe on his face he had worn when Oliver had flown for them, and then he looked up in front of him. _Just like riding a motorcycle, or a dirt bike, or a horse. _All which were terribly unstable at the best of times, but all that he could do. He gripped tight around the handle and as the boy had said, at his very thought the broom lifted off the ground, he leant forwards not even an inch and it drifted diagonally across the courtyard.

He leant forwards a bit more and tried to get his thoughts in order and banish the small voice in the back of his head screaming that 'it isn't possible and you're going to die'. He hated that voice and never listened to it.

He leant down across the broom and it almost instantly shot off, he gripped tight as the wind whipped his face making his eyes water and the force of it threatened to rip him from the broom._ This isn't possible, this cannot be happening, I am flying. _He let a smile creep across his face as he flew across the courtyard, over the wall and out across the grounds, he climbed higher and higher and looked around him. He slowed the broom down and took in the surroundings, all around he was enclosed by mountains and forests, there was nothing for miles and only the small curls of smoke showed him that there was actually civilisation nearby. He turned on the broom, feeling it lurch underneath him and he dropped onto it, he looked down to find he was dizzyingly high and felt a sickening tug at his stomach. He swallowed hard and suddenly felt very unstable in the steady breeze.

He leant forwards and urged the broom on again and once it was moving he felt safe again, this incredible adrenaline rush was something he had never experienced before, nothing could top what he was doing, not even solving cases. He pushed on and felt the wind pick up as he gained speed and pulled the broom round, doing circles as he came towards the ground, he straightened out and let all his fears go and shot down towards the courtyard as fast as he could make it go before pulling up, a few hundred yards away he let himself gently drift to the ground, he took his feet off the holders and hit the ground hard with his feet and skidded across the grass, barely managing to stay upright. He jumped off, completely breathless and windswept and left the broom hovering as he caught his breath.

"That was incredible!" John hurried over and clapped him on the back.

"That was the most amazing thing I have ever done!" He gasped and waited for his adrenaline levels to calm down so he could manage more than a sentence. "I flew, I flew, it is impossible but I did it."

"What was it you said to me once? Once you remove the impossible anything else, however improbable must be true?"

"But it IS impossible! It defies the laws of physics and gravity and-"

"But you still did it."

"I still did it!" He stood up and shook his head, then tried to see how bad the damage was to his hair as Oliver came over and took his broom.

"Impressive, you've never flown before?"

"Not ever."

"Professor Holmes never did find Quidditch interesting as a student, a shame really; I always told him he would have a knack for it." Professor Dumbledore came over and smiled, reminding them that they were pretending to be ex students.

"The library was always more my place to go in my school days I do confess." He said, still slightly out of breath.

Returning to the castle after a quick lesson in the inner workings of Quidditch by an incredibly enthusiastic Wood had left them more eager than ever to learn what they could about this world and John had almost completely forgotten the reason they were here until Dumbledore brought it up.

"So gentlemen, are you still interested in taking the case?"

"We're still here aren't we?" Replied John, Sherlock was still reliving his flying lesson and was a little bit out of it.

"Then you will want to purchase some wizarding things if you are to be able to fit in. I would also suggest, if you are going to stay here and teach for the year that you both invest in a wand."

"A wand?" Sherlock came back to earth and looked quizzically at Dumbledore.

"Yes a wand, if you do not have one people will fast realise something is not right about you two, you are going to have to go all out to stay under cover here."

"How do we get a wand?" Asked John.

"We go to Diagon Alley of course. Gentlemen, if you will allow it, let us go to my office where we can use the Floo network to go to the Leaky Cauldron in London."

"The Floo what?" John queried, trying not to sound completely lost.

"All will be revealed, let us be off!" And without another word Dumbledore strode off down the corridor and didn't wait for them to follow.

After walking for a short while they reached a carved out wall where a large Griffin sculpture rested.

"Password." Came a deep voice as the beak of the Griffin moved. By now John had had just about enough with magic and he tried his best not to show his irritation. Sherlock on the other hand was bubbling as usual.

"Sugar Quills." Dumbledore replied and the Griffin spun aside to reveal a spiral staircase. Dumbledore stepped onto it and walked slowly up, not checking to see if they were coming, they followed swiftly as the statue closed the entrance behind them.

They arrived in a large, circular room filled with many intricate objects, Sherlock felt himself twitching to explore but instead ignored his desire and followed the Headmaster. Dumbledore sat down and flicked his hand, two chairs knocked the feet from underneath them and they both flumped down onto the red velvet cushions.

"I wish to go over some things with you, I know Professor McGonagall has told you what she knows so let me elaborate and answer any questions you may have." He filled them in on the rest of the story, he told them about the 'Boy Who Lived' and why Sirius Black was really after him as well as giving them some theories, where Minerva had told them the bare minimum lest they decided not to take the case, the Headmaster was more than willing to share knowledge he had gained from ministry officials as well as things no one else knew about the notorious murderer, or should we say mass murderer, something Minerva had not specified on.

By the time their tour and now the discussion of the case was over it was almost midday and Dumbledore stood up.

"So gentlemen, you have all you can information wise, let us go and get the rest!" He walked over to a large fire place and took a handful of what look to Sherlock like gun powder. He let it trickle through his hands as he spoke, watching them both carefully. "This is Floo Powder, it is a magical form of instant transportation, the Floo Network is made up of fireplaces, all connected to one another, using this fireplace here, I could step into it and end up in Bulgaria at the wizarding school of Durmstrang, or to the local town of Hogsmeade to the pub The Three Broomsticks for a nice cup of Firewhiskey. All you have to do is throw some of the powder into the fireplace and say loudly the place you wish to go, but you **must **say it with perfect pronunciation or you could end up somewhere completely unknown. We are to arrive at the pub The Leaky Cauldron in London and from there we shall go to the best place in the world to get supplies, Diagon Alley. Now, Mr Holmes, would you be so kind as to go first."

Sherlock stood up, wishing he had his fitted coat on instead of these robes and deeming the first thing he needed was proper robes, and walked over to the fireplace. He took a handful of the sparkling powder and thrust it into the fireplace which immediately burst into green flames, making him step backwards. The flames flickered and died out and he stared incredulously at it.

"It is perfectly safe Mr Holmes I assure you."

He narrowed his eyes and stood to face the fireplace before taking another handful of the powder when Dumbledore offered the pot to him.

"Say the words clearly as you drop the powder."

Sherlock did as he was instructed, yelling 'The Leaky Cauldron' before stepping into the flames, he turned and watched with wide eyes as John and the Professor disappeared in a whirl of green flames that engulfed his entire body and he couldn't stop the fear rising up inside him as he was pulled into the fire place.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 - The Wand Chooses the, um, Muggle**

Sherlock felt his stomach pulled this way and that and he could swear he was being spun around in circles, he caught glimpses out of the corner of his eye of openings, family homes and empty rooms but some force kept him hurtling towards his destination.

Within what must have been seconds but felt like longer Sherlock's feet touched the ground with such force his legs buckled underneath him. He landed out of the fireplace on his hands and knees and tried his hardest not to retch as he coughed violently. He stood up and dusted himself off to find his hands shaking, he clenched his fists and surveyed the area. He was in a very old traditional looking pub, with a wooden stair case and large windows that still didn't seem to cast much light on the bleak interior. There was a bar made of old polished wood and a man standing behind it, he was hunch backed and short but had an inviting, friendly face. He smiled as Sherlock caught his eye.

"First time by powder sir?"

"Yes actually, it was, different."

"It gets easier over time don't you worry sir, now will you be wanting a room or just a drink? Or a paper, some fresh stew?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to brush off the eager barkeep when the fire roared, he turned to see the emerald flames once again and leapt out of the way as a very disorientated John hit the floor in a heap. He pushed himself off the ground and coughed heavily before getting up and shaking his jacket out.

"That went well I think."

"Indeed." Sherlock replied curtly.

The hunchbacked man went to fuss over John as Sherlock kept his eyes locked on the flames, sure enough, they filled up the fireplace with green light and Dumbledore stepped neatly out of the flames as if he had just walked through an open door.

"Albus my dear fellow what brings you here?" The bar keep bustled over eagerly and shook Dumbledore's hand.

"Tom my good man, we are here to purchase supplies, this is Professor Holmes and Professor Watson, we had to call them in last minute so they came very unprepared."

Tom's face fell as he looked at the three of them, realising they weren't going to give him business and backed away, making excuses and saying good bye.

"Gentlemen, there is a cash machine just outside, would you like to go and get out your money and exchange it for wizarding money?"

"Wizarding money?!" Sherlock caught himself before he made a scene and swallowed hard.

"Yes, we have our own currency here, the exchange rate is good I am told, so come let us go outside and you can use your muggle cards and what have you."

They came back into the pub after Sherlock withdrew a considerable amount of money and Dumbledore led them out of a small door and into an alleyway. Sherlock and John stopped as they came upon a brick wall.

"Not another Kings Cross?" Asked John unenthusiastically.

"Not at all, you just have to find the right brick, ahh." Replied Dumbledore without looking, he took his wand and tapped it to a brick in the centre of the wall and the bricks disappeared, revealing an opening onto a busy street lined with shops, witches and wizards bustled about flitting from shop to shop.

They followed Dumbledore out into the crowd and almost immediately people turned to stare as they went past.

"Are they staring at us or you?" John asked, looking incredibly uneasy.

"Probably a bit of both, not many people see me outside of Hogwarts, but everybody knows me, and I would expect one or two may recognise Mr Holmes here, even if they can't figure out why."

"It's rather nice to know they are staring at someone else for a change don't you think John."

"I guess, I wish they wouldn't stare all together."

"We'll be going straight to Gringotts, our bank, and then you may explore. You have the cauldron shop on your left and the apothecary on your right, Eeylops Owl Emporium and the magical instruments shop after them on your left and Quality Quidditch Supplies, a stationary shop and Flourish and Blotts on your right." They passed the shops pointed out and Dumbledore continued as they walked down the cobbled street. "Here we have Florean Fortescues Ice Cream Parlour on the left, one of my favourites! And Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions on the right, and then we have Gringotts."

The great white building loomed up on the right hand side like a fortress compared to the other shops. Its imposing presence and stark contrast of colours was enough to make even Sherlock stop and stare. Dumbledore walked in and they followed, upon walking through the doors Sherlock nearly had to drag John on before he made a scene.

There, row upon row of them, were magical creatures, but these creatures were unmistakeable.

"Goblins!" John hissed at Sherlock. "You've got to be kidding me, was every fairy tale we ever heard true?!"

"Yes, over exaggerated yes, but still true, Unicorns, Giants, Vampires, Werewolves."

"V-vampires?"

"Yes John, Vampires."

"I think I'm going to pass out."

"No you have already done that recently, just keep walking and breathe deep." Sherlock took him by the arm and walked him after Dumbledore swiftly.

"How are you so calm! You, a man of science and deduction, who doesn't believe in anything even remotely whimsical or superstitious."

"I'm not, trust me, I just hide it better."

John stopped struggling and looked up at Sherlock, matching his pace to his long legged friend.

"Well, that's um, good to know I guess."

"Don't tell anyone, I have a reputation to uphold."

They reached the desk at the end of the hall and Dumbledore spoke to the goblin sitting there, the goblin had a harsh, raspy voice like sand paper and beady black eyes that seemed to strip you down to your insides as it looked at you. It took £1000 from Sherlock and John (grudgingly when Sherlock kept pressing about how long they could be stuck there for on this case) and gave them 200 Galleons each in return ('the exchange rate is good my arse' complained John). They walked out of the back and John had to keep himself from pushing the old wizard they were following out of the door so he could escape from the goblin's stares. Dumbledore on the other hand seemed to be happy to walk at his leisure regardless of his companions.

Once outside Dumbledore took them first to Madam Malkin's, either he had heard Sherlock complaining about his robes or merely guessed but either way both were very relieved. Sherlock browsed through the shop, wishing he had his normal coat instead and opted for dark green and black robes. He wanted to go for blue but that was Ravenclaws colours and supposedly the inter house relations were very complex and it was not a good idea for a Slytherin to sport blue unless they were a well known teacher or student. John chose some nicely affordable brown and tan robes and was a stark contrast to Sherlock, no more than usual, and refused the pointy hat vehemently when the fitter tried her best to sell them both one. Sherlock merely sniffed at it and the women left him alone, but no one ever took no for an answer with John, he would have to adopt some of Sherlock's mannerisms one day he was sure of it.

After they had bought a few more items of clothing, all very period yet still quite fashionable which pleased Sherlock to no end, they left the shop. They stuffed their old robes into the bags provided and left in their new ones and John couldn't understand how Sherlock managed to look good in anything, he felt exposed, silly, like he was wearing a dress and was having a hard time not tripping up on the hemline of them as for some reason robes just _had_ to touch the floor like in a movie. Sherlock was whisking off with feline grace and swanning about like he had been doing this all his life, but John could still see how uncomfortable he was.

Dumbledore led them back past Gringott's to a shop right at the very end of the street and went inside where he was greeted by a man who looked even older than Dumbledore himself.

"Good day Ollivander, I have that special request I asked of you."

"Ah yes Professor, by all means." He stood up and came out from behind the counter. "Ollivander's is closed for an important meeting, please could you all leave." He announced loudly and a couple of children and a very offended adult left. Ollivander turned the 'Open' sign round to 'Closed' and locked the door, peering out into the street before coming back to them.

He held out his hand to Sherlock who took it and shook it firmly before he offered his hand to John, for an old man he had an iron grip and eyes like ice and it made John feel very small. He went back behind the counter and pressed his hands together.

"Gentlemen, I am doing this as a favour to Professor Dumbledore but I cannot tell you what to expect nor how much help one may be. Wandlore is one of the oldest and most complex of the magical world and still some aspects are a mystery, wands react to magical abilities and you cannot just pick one up and wave it around to make magic. The wand chooses the wizard and if you do not have one that has chosen you it will disobey you, it can even turn on it's master."

"Turn on its- You mean like attack the holder?" John said anxiously.

"Backfire, cast the spell on the person holding it, especially if you pit the wand against it's actual master, these are not toys gentlemen and if you treat them as such you may not live to regret it." Sherlock had to wonder If everyone in this world enjoyed theatrics or they had just been unfortunate in who they met.

"Let us start Mr Holmes, I need you to open your mind, forget your sciences and facts. I do not know if you will even get a reaction from a wand but we must try."

He handed Sherlock a wooden box, Sherlock pried it open and took out the long polished piece of wood inside. He touched his fingers to it, it was 11", oak and Sherlock could feel power surging through it.

"Dragon Heartstring core." Ollivander muttered.

"Dragon, you've got to be-" John was silenced by a look from the older man.

"These wands have been selected in the hopes they will react to muggles, do not question them. Now Mr Holmes, please try to cast a spell."

"I don't know how?"

"Just flick it Mr Holmes."

Sherlock curled his hand around the marked grip and stared at the wand for a second, willing his mind to let go of his inhibitions and he flicked the wand. Nothing. He flicked it again, nothing. The power he could feel ebbed and died.

"Did you feel anything?"

"I could feel a small power inside of it but it disappeared." He kept his eyes fixed on the wand and tried not to let himself feel disappointment.

"But you felt something?"

"Yes, is that good?"

"That is excellent Mr Holmes, more than I could have hoped for." He took the wand from Sherlock and placed it back in the box before selecting another.

Sherlock took the wand and looked it over critically. 10 ¼", Cedar, slightly crooked and well marked but smooth and cool to touch.

"Unicorn hair." Said Ollivander nonchalantly. Sherlock's eyes flicked to John who raised his eyebrows but kept his mouth shut.

Sherlock clasped his hand round it and again felt the small surge of power underneath his hands, it was like feeling a light source and was one of the strangest feelings Sherlock had ever encountered. He flicked the wand and the power spiked beneath his hand, he uttered a gasp and dropped the wand to the floor.

"My goodness Dumbledore, they are reacting to him. How intriguing." Ollivander surveyed him as did Dumbledore and he stooped to pick up the wand, determined not to be beaten.

He flicked the wand again, his jaw set with determination and his brow creased, he would harness this power, he didn't have this brilliant mind for nothing. As his hand came to a stop he uttered a cry as the papers flew up from the counter and draws flew out from the shelves behind, the wand felt hot beneath his hand and he placed it down before he dropped it.

"This is incredible, but I think I may have it now. Here." He took the wand and handed Sherlock another box which Sherlock opened tentatively and took the wand out. Dumbledore leant closer as Sherlock inspected the wand and Sherlock looked round.

"Something wrong?"

"Not at all, it is just that not many students ever see these wands."

The wand was white and long, 13 ½ inches to be precise, the handle had patterning down it and was smooth as bone, the wood was Yew.

"Phoenix feather core."

Already Sherlock could feel something, like a rope was tied around his heart to his wrist and he flicked the wand. Sparks came out of the end in red and green, he flicked it again and more sparks came out of the end before he felt his cloak billowing around him as wind filled the shop and circled around him, the power in his hand, he gripped it tighter and laughed into the wind, he had never felt anything like it before and it was exhilarating.

"Are you sure you have never had magical abilities Mr Holmes?" Ollivander peered at him from behind the desk. "You've never made anything move without touching it?"

"Don't be absurd."

"You should have invited him to Hogwarts Professor, what a mind; he has overcome his own nature to be able to use magic."

"At the age I would have received my letter my mind was not even a quarter as focused and refined as it is now."

"The power of the mind is the greatest magic of all." Dumbledore spoke softly and Sherlock got out his new wallet he had gotten in the robe shop, a green velvet drawstring pouch. He handed over the money for the wand and placed it back inside the box, his heart still racing and his mind doing cartwheels and back flips. But at the back of his mind a cold shiver came and went down his spine, he was afraid of this magic and this world.

After watching Sherlock, John was eager to try and couldn't help feeling terribly disappointed, he tried out 5 wands before getting anywhere. Finally, a 10 ½" Cherry Wood wand with a unicorn hair core gave out the tiniest puff of smoke for him. Ollivander deemed it was going to be the best he could hope for and left John feeling hurt. He knew he shouldn't have expected anything but he wished he had felt that power Sherlock had, it had made the room resound with it and John tried not to feel a bit jealous, instead he smiled, this was going to be such an interesting year.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 – Angels and Demons**

They left the shop with an elated Sherlock and indifferent John and Dumbledore left them to explore, saying he would meet them at the ice cream parlour at the entrance and swept away. They decided to go into every shop and approached a shop called 'Magical Menagerie'. They went in, the little bell above the door tinkling to announce their arrival and were greeted with a host of creatures, owls sat on perches along with other birds, magpies, raptors (birds of prey to you and I) and more exotic creatures. On the counter were cages full of rats and mice and cats sat in large hutch like cages lining the walls. Sherlock looked at all the creatures around him, small ponds set off the floor held frogs and toads and some more strange creatures were in glass cages on the other side.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" Said a thin, black eyed man who had definitely seen better days, from behind the counter, closing a back door and turning to face them.

"Just browsing." John replied.

"You'll know what creature you want, it'll stand out to you, they are drawn to the magic inside you."

"Is that right?" Huffed John who was feeling extremely unmagical, he turned to Sherlock who was looking at a strange looking creature in a glass bowl with a dip in its head filled with water.

Sherlock moved away from it and went to study the birds, he found birds of prey fascinating, their keen intelligence and volatile nature had always impressed him, as he walked between the rows he felt a sharp pain in his left arm.

He looked down to see a curved beak embedded in his robes and let out a hiss, the bird let go and lifted it's wings out slightly, it almost seemed to be saying to Sherlock '_bring it on' _and he smirked at the silly thought, he turned away and the bird lifted a clawed foot and grabbed his sleeve by his wrist. He shook his arm and instead of dislodging the bird it hopped onto his arm and gripped him tight, its talons sinking slightly into his flesh and making him wince.

"It seems it likes you sir." Said the man behind the counter.

Sherlock looked back at the weight on his arm and regarded the large bird, rich brown feathers tipped with black and a large, curving beak. It had white on its tail and black ends, but its eyes were what drew Sherlock to it, instead of the usual brown or black raptor eyes its eyes were blue. They stared at him with burning intent and Sherlock could see the intelligence behind them clearly. He lifted his arm up and the Harris Hawk flapped its wings slightly to keep balance before he was stopped by the leather strap keeping it on its perch. He reached down and untied the strap, as soon as it fell from the perch the bird stretched its wings wide and squawked. It then rose off his arm and settled onto his shoulder where it fixed a bright blue eye on him and clicked its beak.

"I'll take him." Sherlock said as he stared back at the hawk.

"Very good sir, shall you be wanting to look at some popular names for them at all, some of our birds already 'ave names but he doesn't."

"No, I can see his name clearly. Hello Angel." He lifted his hand and the bird touched his beak to Sherlock's fingers.

John watched on with complete surprise at the unfolding scene, he came over as Sherlock paid for the bird and it screeched at him. He steeled himself and Sherlock touched his hand to the bird's wing as John held out a hand, Angel touched his beak to his hand and then flapped off of Sherlock's shoulder. John took a step back in shock as it landed on his arm.

"It seems any friend of mine is a friend of his." Sherlock smiled and asked the man if he could pick up the cage on the way out before whistling to the bird. Angel shuffled around on John's arm making him cringe and launched himself back to Sherlock. "Who says wizards have to have owls!" Sherlock exclaimed before petting the bird and walking out of the shop.

He looked back over to John who was still looking at the bird in total awe. "It's not flying away?"

"Neither did the owls we saw at Hogwarts."

"How is that possible, even trained bird handlers have to use meat and tie the birds to themselves?"

"Magic, dear John, magic." He mused, trying not to choke on the words.

"But if you have magic you should have gone to the school and all that nonsense."

"Maybe I'm a late bloomer?" He raised his eyebrows and gave a mock smile, trying not to feel terribly cool about having a rather large Harris Hawk sitting on his shoulder. "I don't know what I find more strange, that I just bought a magic wand, or that I just bought a Harris Hawk." He mused and walked off.

As the came back past Gringotts a small alley way caught their eye, they peered down it.

"Knockturn alley, what a creepy looking place." John stared down into the gloom of the narrow winding steps that made the entrance.

"Just the place to check out don't you think."

John looked back at Sherlock, flabbergasted, before heaving a sigh and following Sherlock who was already bouncing down the steps, Angel lifting off his shoulders and opening his wings with each bounce. _That poor bird is going to seriously regret this day._ John laughed to himself, thinking of his first meeting with Sherlock.

As they walked down the alley, crowded with street sellers selling a variety of awfully creepy things, such as what looked to be dead beetles and fingers nails. Dirty, haggard men smoked pipes and filled the air with choking smog and people stood pressed up against the brick walls muttering to themselves. How Sherlock could feel at ease was beyond John but he walked through with an indifferent yet critical look on his face, storing away information without looking suspicious as only Sherlock could.

Most of the shops were either boarded up, abandoned or locked and they finally came across a large shop called Borgin and Burkes which looked to be a magical antiquities shop. Sherlock pushed the door quietly and went inside, the shop was filled with dust and was dark, old ragged curtains were pulled across the windows, blocking the light. He went up and down the rows, casting his eyes upon the many strange objects held in cases or atop shelves. John followed behind feeling uneasy.

"This place doesn't feel right Sherlock." He whispered by the other man's ear as he bent down to look in a case, earning himself a caw from Angel.

"You're right there John, exactly why it is interesting me. Look at these objects, some of them are like the drawings in a book I read last night about Dark Magic."

"Dark magic, as in what the Death Eaters practice?"

"Yes, this alley was specifically mentioned as one to avoid."

"Oh fantastic."

"To overcome the Dark Arts one must become familiar with it, do you not agree?" He straightened up and made eye contact with the shop keeper who immediately dropped his gaze and busied himself with straightening out items on his counter. A small noise caught their ears and both looked up to see people entering.

A tall man with long platinum blonde hair cascading down his shoulders entered, followed by a woman of similar stature. Both proud and upper class, the man walked with a silver topped cane and the woman wore fur across her neck. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and took note; he knew those stormy grey eyes that now regarded him and his counterpart upon his shoulder with scornful distaste.

"You're a Malfoy." Sherlock said loudly, much to the man's surprise.

He narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, watching him with hawk like features. "Our reputation proceeds us Narcissa, yes we are. I am Lucius Malfoy and this is my wife Narcissa." He stepped over, clearing the space between them easily and held out a gloved hand. Sherlock took it and smiled widely as if he were a fan meeting someone he adored.

"Professor Sherlock Holmes, I teach your son Draco, it is a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Ah, Draco has never mentioned a Professor Holmes?"

"We just started this year; this is my associate Professor John Watson. We were called in last minute so are procuring supplies for the school year."

"And what supplies could you want in this quaint little shop pray tell Professor Holmes? What subject do you teach?"

"Oh nothing, just browsing my good fellow, I teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, now we must be off. It was a pleasure meeting you both." Sherlock shook Lucius's hand once more, his eyes noting down the change in the other mans as he mentioned his position, and kissed Narcissa's before whisking out of the shop leaving Angel clinging onto his shoulder and John hurrying his hellos and goodbyes before following his friend.

"What was all that about?" John asked as he hobbled after Sherlock up the dingy alley back towards the main street.

"A purely wonderful coincidence, I don't like their boy one bit and they seem terribly shady to me, I wonder if they have anything to do with this Black character."

"You don't think?"

"Oh I do, did you not see how he stiffened when I mentioned the Dark Arts and that I was a Professor, both things he doesn't like discussing. He is on the school board for the Ministry of Magic."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Piece of parchment in Dumbledore's office, a letter from Lucius Malfoy saying he would be dropping by to speak about some concerning issues with staff this year."

"Concerning issues?"

"One of the staff members is hiding something and I think it is the key to all of this, who or what I can't be certain but I am considerably sure it has something to do with Professor Lupin and his 'ailment'. A man doesn't end up looking like that just because he fell on hard times and he is obviously uneasy in the company of others, mark me, I shall find out just what his condition is as first priority."


	7. Author's Note

Hello everyone, just to let you know that The Calvary Horse and MY OTHER FANFICS WILL BE UPDATED. Sadly my mum dropped her laptop and smashed the screen! My brother managed to retrieve all my fan fictions I had finished off my old broken laptop, incl the finished version of The Cavalry Horse and a fan fiction I hadn't even had time to upload before my laptop gave up the ghost. Please do not despair and THANK YOU for being so patient, it WILL BE FINISHED, THEY ALL WILL BE, please do not give up! 


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